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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25727218">it's not the years honey, it's the mileage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordays/pseuds/cordays'>cordays</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Inspired by Indiana Jones, Romance, Sexual Tension, lots of flirting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:48:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25727218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordays/pseuds/cordays</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“It had to be you.”</p>
<p>The Doctor’s voice rises over the cacophony of men and Clara watches as the woman’s spine stiffens, her shoulders pull back, and she tenses for a split second before she slowly turns on her heel. The move is calculated and it urges the crowd to stifle their celebrations until it’s quiet. When the woman turns, she grins at the Doctor, licking her lips before she addresses him.</p>
<p>“Hello Sweetie.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clara Oswin Oswald &amp; River Song, The Doctor &amp; Clara Oswin Oswald, The Doctor/River Song, Twelfth Doctor/River Song</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>it's not the years honey, it's the mileage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Raiders of the Lost Ark.</p>
<p>More tags will be added as the story progresses.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>John Smith knew all there was to know about Gallifrey, an ancient land lost through time. He was, in his opinion, the foremost expert on all things timelord related. From what he had read, of which the texts couldn't be completely relied upon for no one knew the true origin of their civilisation, timelords were once human. Mere mortals with a considerably high intellect, far too advanced for their time and yet, time is exactly what they had learned to master. Everything he has ever known about the timelords implies that they had discovered the secret to immortality. And yet, there were none left to confirm or deny the rumours. According to legend, it was their ego and their arrogance that led to their downfall. Their belief that they were the superior race instigated a war with Skaro, ultimately destroying both. Any real account of those events were subject to ruin, age turning all written records to dust and anyone who had lived at the time, believed long dead.</p>
<p>He knew everything there was to know about Gallifrey and the timelords, and the great war that cost them their place among the living.</p>
<p>"Mr Smith, we are the-"</p>
<p>"Doctor."</p>
<p>He is quick to correct them, voice gruff, without so much as deigning to meet their eye. Instead, he continues to write on the blackboard before him with a too small stub of chalk. He scratches his fingers through the soft, grey hair at the nape of his neck, shoving his other hand ( chalk included ) into the pocket of his trousers as he scowled at the equations he had painstakingly transcribed from memory.</p>
<p>"Doctor Smith, not Mr Smith. Or just Doctor, if you will. It's not that difficult for most intelligent beings but I suppose if you need a minute to adjust, by all means."</p>
<p>There's silence behind him and he heaves a sigh, pulling out his hand and tossing the chalk on to his desk as he turns around, coat tails whipping through the air as the Doctor turns his scowl on present company. "What? What do you want, can't you see I'm busy?"</p>
<p>The men standing before him are military, or at least military trained. He can tell from the way they hold themselves, the stiffened shoulders, their hands clasped behind their backs. They may not be in uniform but they've served whatever country they hail from be it his own or another, the Doctor doesn't particularly care which. He's never been fond of soldiers.</p>
<p>They watch him wearily, sizing him up, and he resists the urge to stick out his tongue in a childish fashion. He won't give them the satisfaction of breaking his stoic disposition. Crossing his arms, he narrows his eyes before he urges them to carry on by waving his hand in the air, wrist turning with a flourish.</p>
<p>"Out with it, come on."</p>
<p>"Doctor, we are the Unified Intelligence Taskforce. UNIT-"</p>
<p>"Fancy."</p>
<p>They pay his sarcastic interruption no mind.</p>
<p>"-for short. We have a proposition for you."</p>
<p>They always do.</p>
<p>This isn't the first time he's been approached by some secret organisation requiring his expertise. And it won't be the last. The Doctor scoffed regardless, rolling his eyes in a dramatic manner as he mentally catalogued every detail of their person. The lines on their faces, their body proportions, the exact colour shades of their eyes. The scar on the side of one's neck, the tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of the other.</p>
<p>"Not interested."</p>
<p>He's quick to respond, shaking his head and turning his back, eyes flitting over the writing on his blackboard. It's all correct, of course. But he rewrites it in his head anyway. Best to look busy. Maybe then they'd leave without him having to throw them out.</p>
<p>"You haven't heard what we've discovered. I think you'll change your mind."</p>
<p>Unlikely, but he'll bite. He turns back around, visibly irritated by their interruption to his day. The Doctor narrows his eyes at the three men standing to attention in the middle of his office. He says nothing and when it's plainly obvious that he's waiting for them to continue, a feat that took far longer than they should be proud to admit, the one with Colonel pinned to his lapels takes a seat.</p>
<p>"Gallifrey."</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>Well.</p>
<p>Now that's piqued his interest.</p>
<p>"What about it?"</p>
<p>Curt. Blunt. He has a reputation to uphold and he can't risk showing just how intrigued he is. The curiosity rising in his bones is difficult to curb but he manages. Barely. "If you want a history lesson, I teach a lecture at three. You're in for a treat, we're covering the Death Zone today. Should be a right laugh."</p>
<p>Had Clara been in attendance at this clandestine meeting, she might've pinched him for his quips. No. Scratch that. She definitely would've pinched him for his quips.</p>
<p>The Colonel has no patience nor any interest in placating his sour demeanour today. What a pity. He likes a good back and forth.</p>
<p>"We believe we may have uncovered definitive proof of the Moment... You are familiar with the Moment, aren't you Doctor?"</p>
<p>His blood runs cold. Oh, he's familiar with it alright. Legend has it the Moment was created by the timelords as a failsafe, a trigger that when activated, would imbue Gallifrey with unrecognised power. Supposedly, Skaro intercepted it's movement between the Citadel and the Drylands, and the battle that ensued caused the end of both the timelords, and the daleks. It hadn't even been at full power. The implications of what the Moment could do were staggering. And, like Gallifrey, it had been lost.</p>
<p>"The last known whereabouts suggest it had been sealed in a confession dial buried at the gates of Trenzalore."</p>
<p>He finishes his thought process aloud, gritting his teeth as the Colonel's laughter comes out sounding like a dog's bark. "Impressive."</p>
<p>The Doctor refrained from rolling his eyes. He doesn't care about impressing Colonel… Manton. Is that his name? Did he even introduce himself?</p>
<p>Irrelevant, The Doctor decides. He just wanted to get to the gist of this trying exchange so he can promptly forget it ever happened and go on to teach a class of not-yet-adults suffering either a hangover or sleep deprivation, or both.</p>
<p>"If there's a point, get to it."</p>
<p>"We want you to find it. We're willing to give you access to all of our private and confidential research on Gallifrey in exchange for the retrieval of the Moment. And, we're willing to compensate for the loss of income you are likely to face, considering we expect this to take some time."</p>
<p>The Doctor hesitated before he, too, sat in his chair behind his desk, opposite the Colonel. He steepled his fingers, elbows on the polished wood as he leaned forward, staring into the Colonel's eyes with an intensity that caused him to shift uncomfortably.</p>
<p>He was no fool. The Moment was, at its core, a weapon of mass destruction and in the wrong hands could only end in disaster. It was a gut feeling, instinctual, but the Doctor had a feeling those wrong hands belonged to whoever the Colonel answered to. And that's exactly why he agreed.</p>
<p>"Fine."</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>xx</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>They walk into madness, both out of breath, one more so than the other. The Doctor has only a knapsack but Clara's forced to lug a hiker's bag. He could offer to switch, but she had made the decision to pack everything she owned ( an exaggeration, obviously ) meanwhile he packed light. As in, seemingly, nothing at all. So why should he carry her bag when she's the one who packed it? No. Clara will survive; he will slow his gait for her though. Her legs are half the length of his, after all.</p>
<p>"Where are we, Doctor?"</p>
<p>It takes her longer than he had expected to question their whereabouts. When he had told Clara that he was taking leave to participate in a glorified treasure hunt of Gallifreyan origin, she had naturally invited herself along. Who else will take care of you, Doctor - she had posed, and he had spluttered in indignation. Take care of him? He didn't need to be taken care of. So what if he tended to get sidetracked and distracted. All the best things that's ever happened to him happened because he made his own path rather than followed one already trekked.</p>
<p>Clara hadn't listened.</p>
<p>She never did.</p>
<p>"The Maldovarium. Anything goes in The Maldovarium."</p>
<p>It's a dive bar. Of any law that's ever existed, you can be sure they've all been broken here. Frequented by the worst of the worst; thieves and mercenaries, cold-blooded killers. Criminals. They liked to use The Maldovarium as almost neutral ground, where they could sell their scores or pick up a job, the kind not easily advertised.</p>
<p>He had been told by the Colonel that they would be working with another they had hired as insurance, someone familiar with Gallifreyan legend but with a less savory approach to extracting information. A gun for hire, he had thought when he had learned about their contacts location. There were only so few it could be, and even less he'd agree to work with.</p>
<p>"Right. So, why are we here?"</p>
<p>Clara flinched at the sound of something breaking to her right, stepping closer to the Doctor subconsciously. She couldn't imagine how the Doctor knew of this place, it hardly seemed like somewhere he would frequent regularly. In fact, she couldn't imagine him here at all. As she poses her question, sudden shouting draws their attention to a particularly crowded corner of the bar. There's yelling and swearing and she can see wads of cash being passed over heads. Through the men who gather on mass, a gap forms and she can just make out two people sat opposite each other.</p>
<p>One is awfully large, with long visibly unwashed hair, he's sweating profusely. He seems to be wearing an eyepatch, and he's dirty. Soot smudged across his cheek and down his neck, his clothes damp with drying rain, and likely alcohol. Clara's nose twitches in disgust as he throws his head back and downs the entirety of his glass, the rum spilling from the sides and down his chin.</p>
<p>The other, is a woman. She's leaning back in her chair, one arm up over the back, and she's watching him with what Clara can only describe as a dangerous smirk. She's dressed practically, with tight trousers and a long-sleeved vest, though there's a lot more cleavage on display than Clara thought legal. Her hair is the biggest draw and a right distraction, even tied up as it is. Tendrils of impossibly curly blonde hair tied by what must be the strongest band in creation. Strands have fallen in disarray, one falling into her eyes as she watches the other slam his glass down on the table between them. The table that Clara can just make out is already full of empty glasses.</p>
<p>"Her."</p>
<p>She's sufficiently distracted by the outburst of cheering from the men who surround them that she doesn't even register the Doctor answering her question. When she does, she turns her head up sharply to stare at him with a risen brow, but he only has eyes for the woman.</p>
<p>He makes his move then, leading Clara down the stairs at the entrance door and striding across the floor towards the crowd. As they approach, they start to hear what little conversation is being made between the two patrons at the centre of attention.</p>
<p>"-ou can't last much longer, Gantok."</p>
<p>Despite the rowdiness of their audience, her voice is distinctive. British, Clara recognises, but dripping with a confidence she has never before encountered. For a fraction of a second, Clara envies her. But that envy slowly ebbs away, transitioning into wide-eyed awe as the woman leans forward, reaching for a glass of her own. It's empty within seconds, placed carefully on the table with the others. The crowd roars, drunk and high on adrenaline. Bets are shouted over each other as the woman wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, and smiles at her opponent sweetly.</p>
<p>Though Clara very much doubts that anything she does is sweet.</p>
<p>The man laughs, but even she can see the glaze in his eyes. The slight swaying as he reaches out for his next glass and grasps at the handle. His hand shakes with the effort it takes to lift it to his lips and the woman rolls her eyes, but she does nothing to aid nor stop him. The man, Gantok she assumes, manages to get the rest of his drink down and he grins at the woman toothily as he lowers the glass to the table.</p>
<p>He misses.</p>
<p>Releasing it, it tips from the edge and shatters on the ground and Gantok sways in the opposite direction. The woman watches, cocking her head to the side, as he starts to fall from his chair, eyes rolling into the back of his head. The woman, just to prove a point, pushes away from her chair and leans forward on her knees, drawing her last glass towards her and drinking it down with gusto. The moment it's empty of every last drop, she slams it down on the table and stands, arms out wide as she turns to her captive crowd, and they cheer.</p>
<p>Money is exchanged, half of it split and handed to the woman. She curtsies ironically before wadding her winnings up and shoving it into her vest.</p>
<p>"It had to be you."</p>
<p>The Doctor's voice rises over the cacophony of men and Clara watches as the woman's spine stiffens, her shoulders pull back, and she tenses for a split second before she slowly turns on her heel. The move is calculated and it urges the crowd to stifle their celebrations until it's quiet. When the woman turns, she grins at the Doctor, licking her lips before she addresses him.</p>
<p>"Hello Sweetie."</p>
<p>Her name is River Song. There had been no introduction, per se. But Clara had overheard the other patrons as the woman waved them away, leaving her alone with the Doctor. And Clara.</p>
<p>River, they called her. River Song. Mad. Brilliant. Dangerous. Hell.</p>
<p>River leads them from the publicity of her victory table to a more secluded booth with awful lighting and an even worse smell. The Doctor is unnaturally stiff as he sits opposite the woman, his hands clasped tightly in his lap and his foot tapping. He stares at her with his angry eyebrows, as Clara often calls them. But really, that's just his eyebrows. They seem to be having a stand-off, neither willing to speak first beyond what they've already said and Clara certainly doesn't want to interrupt whatever… this, is.</p>
<p>She feels uncomfortable already. The tension thick and from the look in River's eye, the way she runs her gaze up and down the Doctor, she can't decide if the woman wants to kill the Doctor, or kiss him. Or maybe it's both. That appreciative stare had briefly flicked over Clara herself and she had resisted the urge to blush, forcing herself to clear her throat and look away as she had followed them. Other than that moment, she seems practically invisible.</p>
<p>Until…</p>
<p>"Working for UNIT now, are you."</p>
<p>It's not a question, but rather an accusation, and River cocks a brow. "Pot, kettle." She drawls, unashamedly. Her smirk seems permanently fixed, although something tells Clara that the effect would be more apparent were the red lipstick she wore not smeared and faded across her cheek.</p>
<p>The Doctor harrumphs, narrowing his eyes at the woman he seems far too familiar with, and Clara feels like she's missing something.</p>
<p>The Doctor suddenly stiffens even further, startled at something Clara can't determine, before he drops his hand under the table.</p>
<p>He grasps at River's ankle, halting the progression of her foot up the outside of his thigh, and he scolds her. "River, behave." She laughs, a throaty sound. Bending forward slightly, she winked at him before her eyes flit to Clara. "Never."</p>
<p>Clara blushes, averting her gaze to the ceiling as if it were the most interesting structure in the world.</p>
<p>A sharp inhale from River prompts the return of Clara's attention and she watches as River sighed, rolling her eyes. "They're paying me a pretty penny darling, how could I refuse?" That seems to irritate the Doctor further, and he grouses low under breath.</p>
<p>"You that easy these days, Professor?"</p>
<p>Even Clara's taken aback by the barb, turning a glare on the Doctor in River's defence. Unnecessary, though it may be. River simply bared her teeth at him in a smile that sent a shiver down both his and Clara's spines.</p>
<p>"Bored, actually."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry-" Clara holds up her hands, unable to sit still or quiet for much longer. Her head is spinning and she is terribly confused. Looking between both the Doctor and River, who turn to stare at her as if they had forgotten she was there, Clara frowned. "-what's happening right now?"</p>
<p>They look at each other, and it would be comical if she wasn't preparing for a headache.</p>
<p>Clara points at River, brow furrowed in disbelief.</p>
<p>"You're a Professor?"</p>
<p>River's smirk returns, but it's the Doctor who finally introduces her to his assistant slash friend slash carer.</p>
<p>"Clara Oswin Oswald, Professor River Song. Archeologist and, how should I put it, illegal obtainer of rare antiquities?"</p>
<p>River grinned.</p>
<p>"He means thief."</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>It makes sense now, why they're here. In a seedy bar in a questionable town meeting a contact for UNIT who they call their 'insurance' … whatever the hell that means. But River doesn't seem like the academic type, not like the Doctor at least.</p>
<p>Clara had always thought that there wasn't anyone else in the world like the Doctor.</p>
<p>Now she wonders if there's anyone like River Song.</p>
<p>The Doctor crossed his arms, sinking into the booth and effectively cutting off any further chatter irrelevant to the task at hand. He didn't want Clara lingering on just who River Song was and what she did.</p>
<p>If her track record was anything to go by, Clara would find out soon enough anyway.</p>
<p>"What did they hire you for, hm?"</p>
<p>River narrowed her eyes.</p>
<p>"I am an archeologist, sweetie. Best in my field, actually. And this is, essentially, an expedition. Uncovering the Tomb of the Timelords-you know, that's what they call Trenzalore."</p>
<p>"Glorified grave robber, that's what you are."</p>
<p>"Ooh, jealous?"</p>
<p>"Of what? You play in dirt, and-and-and dig up trinkets from the dead and then-and then, you incorrectly identify them-"</p>
<p>River refrained from rising to the dirt, leaning on her elbow with her chin in the palm of her hand, looking at him through hooded eyes.</p>
<p>"-and you're jealous I'm not playing with you."</p>
<p>"I am not jealous."</p>
<p>Her lips part, voice adopting a teasing lilt.</p>
<p>"Oh, but you are."</p>
<p>"Sorry, are you two flirting?"</p>
<p>Clara interrupts them, having sat back and watched as they slowly got closer and closer, kept apart only by the table between them. If she hadn't spoken up, who knows where they'd be right now. They both sit back, turning to her yet again and Clara holds up a hand in a still wave. The Doctor barks out a gruff- "No," while River breathes, "-barely."</p>
<p>Clare ignores both of them.</p>
<p>"Hello, yeah, still here."</p>
<p>Is this what she had to look forward to over the course of this, as River called it, expedition?</p>
<p>Is it too late to back out now?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The Indiana Jones ( inspired ) AU that no one asked for. I have seven chapters planned for this story and you will recognise certain situations / lines from Raiders of the Lost Ark if you're familiar with it. I've also used recognisable New Doctor Who characters and locations, possibly lines as well to try and tie it all together. Let me know what you think. Find me on tumblr and on ffnet under the same penname / url.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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